Smile: It's All About You
by sulpicia29
Summary: She spoke of love, and of the girl. Liley oneshot.


**A/N: Hello everyone. Well it seems that over the past two nights I have had an obsession with posting oneshots, and I like it. This one is different from 'Hurt' though, we can't all float about being angsty all the time, it just brings you down.**

**Anyway, disclaimers: Title and lyrics borrowed from 'All About You' by Mcfly and also I do not own the bits of the 2000 year old 'Leucippe and Clitophon' which I quoted from Achilles Tatius. This was my inspiration for the story, I was reading the novel today and some of the prose caught my eye. The highlighted chunk of Lilly's thought later stems from the novel.**

**I hope you all enjoy.  
**

"_Her mouth was like the bloom of a rose, when the rose begins to part the lips of its petals."_Achilles Tatius.

**Smile: It's All About You**

Yesterday you asked me something I thought you knew. So I told you with a smile, "It's all about you."

But that was yesterday. Now it's officially today and I'm standing on her porch, holding the piece of paper in front of me that had changed everything, less than twenty-four hours ago.

I'll tell you where it all began, because the beginning is the simplest part really. Our teacher Mr Corelli, the school's madman as I like to call him, set us an apparently easy assignment last week. We had to write a poem. "A poem?" I muttered to myself and I tilted my head from side to side whilst I played about with idea. "I can do that." I shrugged lightly. Miley seemed less excited though; I heard her grumble from her seat in front of me. She turned around to give me the standard eye-roll, which is always a clear signifier that she is less than impressed. "What's up?" I asked her, "You're really great at things like that. You wrote all of Hannah's songs!"

Miley shook her pretty little head, "They were easy. I could bring them to life with music, but you can't _sing_ a poem Lilly."

I just looked into her fascinating eyes, "Well, I can't even sing, so really it sucks to be me."

Miley had giggled and blushed shyly in amusement from my answer, and the corners of my mouth twitched in response. How hard could writing some dumb poem be anyway?

Mr Corelli was doing something dramatic at the front of the class; I'm not really sure what. At the beginning of the year it had kept our attention for much longer, but now everyone has grown used to his moments of insanity. He stopped though and cleared his throat, waving his arms around emphatically and then he completed his spiel: "It's got to be a love poem."

My mouth dropped open at that point and I swear I could have fit my fist into it I was so shocked. Miley groaned again and tossed her head back, momentarily catching me off-guard when I breathed in the scent of her hair, and I had to bury my face into my hands. This could not be happening to me.

Well, inevitably it did happen, but I could not find my muse. Actually, that is a lie. I had my muse, I had her in my vision and I have her with me almost every day of my life. Only she does not know that I call her that, which is the tricky part. The following day I had to change for gym class with her and then I had to run track with her. She is not the most graceful runner either, but I always keep her company at the back because that is what people do for their inspiration, right?

So, if I spend every day with the girl who stirs me the most, my best friend, whose eyes I cannot avoid staring into, voice I cannot be without or general physique that I cannot save myself from lingering over, then surely I could write a poem. However, things can never be that straightforward.

The day after it was assigned Miley told me that she already wrote her poem, and of course she had to clarify that she thought it was no good. I scoffed at her for exaggerating but she only shrugged. She said that she did not necessarily need a high grade on this test to do well in English this year. I nodded, but my heart had fallen at the same time. No way was I able to brush this off. I _had_ to write a good poem, my English marks were riding on the elegy Corelli had set.

Over the past week I worked hard at it. I stared at blank pages of paper until my head hurt, but still nothing came. I went to the beach and looked out at the ocean, because it reminds me of Miley's eyes. Yet, it was due to the fact that everything reminded me about Miley that I could not write the poem. How was it to look when Lilly Truscott wrote a poem about her best friend, a girl, who she appeared to be madly in love with? _Appeared to be_, well now, that is a funny untruth. I _am_ in love with her, and if anyone looked closer at me when I talk to her, walk with her and touch her, even in the smallest way, they would know the truth instantaneously. Seriously, it is enough to send you mad.

That was the realisation I had made whilst I was trying to find my motivation from nature. So I turned away from the beach, cast my eyes downward from the skies and looked away from the green parkland. I could not glance over the trees which lined my street or even listen to a single song. People would shout to me when I trudged home and every time I glanced up I wished that it was her calling my out name. This was hopeless and the only answer was to write my poem about her, but the gender needed to be altered and the face had to remain nameless. I do not know why anonymity took so long to discover, I guess I am just disorientated in that respect.

Therefore, as the week passed by, I would make the walk to the beach and stretch my legs along the shore until I was far away from everyone else who would distract me. I would settle down into the warm sand, with a pen in my hand and a notepad, which was ready to receive the brunt of my poetic angst. Inspiration came to me from the changing sun in the sky, as it moved across the horizon throughout the day and eventually dipped beneath the waves at nightfall. I saw the turning of the tides and relished in the sounds of the world I knew. I felt the air lap and transform against my skin, from its tepidness in the early morning, its near-burning heat at midday and its final, cool touch at sundown. And when I closed my eyes, all I could see was her face.

My poem was completed the evening before the deadline, although that night I could hardly sleep because my nerves were fighting with my reason. My head was telling me to pull out my poem and replace it with something different, yet my heart told me to be patient and to keep trying, besides, it was unlikely that anyone would notice anyway.

Yesterday I had stood; clutching my poem and refusing to let anyone else look at it. Miley was up before me, because of her surname, and she made me smile because I knew that she had used the lyrics of one of her own private songs that she kept from her Hannah Montana sphere.

_These four walls, they whisper to me. _

_They know a secret I knew they would not keep._

_It didn't take long for the room to fill with dust._

_And these four walls came down around us._

-

_It's hard now to let you be._

_I won't make excuses, I've made my peace._

_Didn't take long for me to lost the trust,_

'_Cause these four walls were not strong enough._

-

_It must have been something, sent me out of my head,_

_With the words so radical and not what I meant._

_Now I wait for a break in the silence 'cause it's all that you left;_

_Just me and these four walls again._

A steady applause had filled the classroom and I had gulped when I watched Miley's eyes flicker through the crowd to find mine. They lingered for a little longer than usual and something inside of them had changed. It was this that steadied my furious doubt enough so that I could gather my courage and face my peers.

I was definitely feeling braver, but nothing had prepared me for the butterflies that intimated a surging course throughout my body, to come spilling out of my mouth in the form of my earlier lunch. Fortunately this did not happen and I shuddered when Mr Corelli had called my name, but Oliver patted me on the back, telling me that I would do fine.

I nodded and I swear it took a life time to get to the front of class, to stand on the platform facing everyone and feel their waiting eyes upon me. I was nervous as hell. I was sweating and my heart was beating so fast that I could hear it in my head. Everyone was a frightening blur of a clammering mass which threatened to drown me, and so I looked for my lifeline.

Miley Stewart was watching me calmly with that fated look still twinkling in her eyes. She smiled a small smile and fiddled nervously with her hair, whilst her eyes fluttered downward. I shuffled the piece of paper in my hand and she looked up, our eyes connected once more, blue on blue, in a brilliant understanding.

I cleared my throat, forced a smile, and began to read my poem aloud to the class. My tongue was twisting in my mouth as it helped to form out the words that my eyes translated, from my scribbled letters, into a voice. I was speaking to them all, but in reality, only to her. She was the only thing I could see in among them, and my yearning grew ever stronger; for the eye is the channel of the wounds of desire. I was oblivious to everything else and somehow I kept reciting my troubled dedication to a secret love, whilst my mind haunted me with the memory of when I first fell head over heels for the brunette in the crowd.

_As soon as I saw, I was done for: beauty pricks sharper than darts and floods through the eyes to the soul. All kinds of reactions possessed me at once: admiration, awe, terror, shame, shamelessness. I admired her stature, I was awestruck by her beauty, I was terrified in my heart, I gazed without shame, I felt ashamed at having been captivated so. I tried to force myself to tug my eyes away from the girl, but they resisted, tugging themselves back there again, as if towed by the lure of beauty. In the end, the eyes won._

I finished speaking and my eyes had never left hers. Her lips had parted and her cobalt gaze had blazed in amazement that I, Lilly Truscott, had been able to write about such a beautifully painful subject when apparently I had never been in love. Yet I had been in love, I had been in love with Miley Stewart from the very first day I had met her.

I stepped down from the platform and let the final few people have their moment in the spotlight which I hoped never to return to. Miley waved at me and I walked over, so that we could take shelter together at the back of the group. She smiled into my eyes and her face was drawn with curiosity. Finally she lowered her hand to find mine, where she twisted our fingers together and leaned in to whisper to me, "That was a beautiful poem Lilly."

I had smiled and turned my head to look upon her, aware of our proximity and how my skin was burning from where her hand was touching mine. Her cheeks were flushed pinker than normal and she was staring at me with a soft intensity, seemingly reluctant to look away. "Thank you." I eventually replied, and the words were forced from my lips because she so often has the power to leave me speechless in her presence.

She shook her head slowly in silent wonder whilst her eyes wound their way across my features, trying to piece together the questions that she had not dared to ask. Miley chewed her lip fretfully, and I knew that she was thinking, and that she was worried about asking me something. She always does that when she is anxious. I raised an eyebrow and smiled reassuringly to coax Miley's temporary inhibitions from her.

"Who was the poem for Lilly?" She breathed, tentative in her approach, but her eyes were smouldering with wanting and my stillness was driving her wild. I could see it, I know Miley too well.

I smiled as I regarded the girl I loved, who was standing so close to me. The smile stretched further across my lips and my eyes twinkled, I had to prevent myself from laughing and spoiling the final poem that the rest of the class was wrapped up in. So I ended her suspense quietly, "It's all about you."

The bell had rung then, loudly among us and the shock of it made Miley leap away from me and I had put a hand to my own chest, over my desperately beating heart. The class had swarmed toward the door, to start their weekend, cruelly blocking my view of her. When they had passed, I blinked; Miley was not there.

Now it is Saturday and I know that Miley is at home, Oliver told me earlier so I did not need to call. I never used to call her before I came round, yet this time the situation is serious and I have left my skateboard behind.

My body is itching for me to go through with what I have to do, for to hold off any longer and not speak to Miley is just plain insanity; and that is not what we do. I am scared though, I have to admit it. Oh well here goes.

I knock on the door and the hand holding the poem begins to shake. I chew my bottom lip and take a step backward when I hear footsteps approaching and she opens the door.

Miley looks surprised that I am here, yet she quickly pushes that aside with a small and rather panic-stricken smile, "Hey Lilly." She says, but that is all.

"Hey Miley." I reply and I am shuffling my feet awkwardly beneath me, "Can I come in?"

Miley nods, stepping inside her house before me and I follow her, remembering to shut the door behind me and now we are walking into the kitchen area. Miley is leaning against the island in the middle of her kitchen and looking at everything except me. This causes my heart to fall and I am sure she sees my disappointment during the coveted looks she sends my way, when she thinks that I am not paying attention.

"Lilly?" Finally Miley speaks and I could jump for joy.

I do not leap to the air however, but stand still and meet her eyes with mine, "Yes Miley?"

"Is it true? Is that poem really all about me?" Her voice is hushed, almost as if she is afraid to break our silence.

I nod, because it is the only thing I can do now that my body is momentarily paralyzed from apprehension.

"Oh." Miley breathes out, but she steps closer, and her eyes are flashing back and forth with mine whilst we focus powerfully on one another's expressions. I can feel my body loosening and she comes nearer to me. I cannot resist her for much longer and it appears that she is holding back just as much as I am.

Our bodies are now separated by only an inch, a fine line that twists its uncompromising way down between us, taunting one of us to be brave and take the first step. I lick my lips and break down the barrier as I put my hands lightly on her waist, "It's all about you."

Miley's mouth curls up into a small smile and her eyelashes flutter alluringly, she leans closer toward me and wraps her hands around my neck. I am looking into her eyes and move to kiss her, yet she turns her head to one side so that my lips brush her cheek.

Miley's breath is hot against my skin when her mouth moves against my ear, and she whispers, "If you make my life worthwhile, it's all about _you._"

I swallow dryly whilst her cheek slides against mine until our eyes lock together again. The distance between us melts away as we kiss for the first time. Her mouth is soft and warm, and she kisses me with a gentle art, whilst her lip-gloss sweetens the taste. I feel overpowered by her, not knowing what I would do if she should deny me her kisses, but gradually she draws away, although she still holds me close.

Her eyes were lit up and sparkling, like the sun blessing the blue canvas of the ocean waves below; and I know that I am forever to be her captive. As Miley's happiness overtakes every other sensation in her body, she throws back her head and laughs. The sound is like a pulse to me, a rhythm which we can move our bodies too and all I know now is to join in.

Dancing on the kitchen tiles: it's all about you.


End file.
